


To Catch A Winchester

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Demons, Demons don't care, Pie, Show level violence, Some Swearing, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: This postinspired me to makethis gif, which inspired me to write this fic.Essentially a few thousand words where you try to bag yourself a Dean Winchester. Side note: you're an evil demon who loves Lucifer.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Pie - Relationship, Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You, Demons/Dean Winchester, Pie/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	To Catch A Winchester

You’re reminded of that old show Madeline.

With lightning slicing through the night—occasionally illuminating the pews as you wandered through the church—here you are with your very own version.

_Twelve little nuns lined up in a row. Slit their throats and a seal will blow!_

A holy river of blood from steeple to sanctuary. A fancy way of saying bathe a church in blood, holy blood at that. It was such a delectable prospect you’d practically begged for the opportunity.

They’re tied up in the pews and you take them one by one. Each nun only goes so far. A couple killed in the tower, the belfry, a few in the lantern. The only problem is there’s one that won’t stop _talking_. On and on about how you could be saved, it wasn’t too late. How God still loves you. After your third trip down the stairs for your next victim, you’d gone as far as landing a punch to her ancient jaw. The way her bones had cracked under your hand was lovely.

She’d looked like she’d almost died. Beautiful, knocked the wind right out of her until she catches her breath and tells you. “You catch more flies with honey.”

Coming from a super-nun aside you like that turn of phrase. You lock it away in the back of your head for a rainy day, it’ll come in handy you think.

Then finally you take Sister Mary-won’t-shut-up to the bottom of the spire, climbing out into the humid night. It had rained but it’s stopped. The wet surface of the building, with your crimson additions, makes for a very pretty, glossy sight. Reflective even in the darkness. Really does look like an entire river when actually it’s only twelve dead nuns.

Eleven, you suppose. You’re about to kill number twelve. A flick of your wrist and she whizzes to the top while you climb, a knife between your teeth and the inky black of your eyes saying more than the mouth of your meat suit ever could.

_Demons can’t be saved. God doesn’t love me. Lucifer does._

You’re straddling the cross at the top of the church, because why the hell not, while you drain her now limp body. Thunder booms and another strike of lightning reveals the outcome of your efforts. You wish you could take a fucking picture. This is what most demons are missing, some goddamn artistic vision. This church covered in holy blood was your hellish Mona Lisa.

* * *

After the seal’s break and Lucifer rises you had arrogantly assumed that evil and shadow would finally rule the Earth. Couldn’t heaven give it up and accept defeat already?

Now, it’s a whole new ballgame. The Winchesters are to be meat suits. Lucifer actually wants to wear one of them. Even Michael the dickless could do better. Although it wasn’t your place to say _that_ , ever, unless you wanted to become a sacrifice to the demon blood cause when the time comes. Which, you didn’t. Things were more fun top side. There are only so many hundreds of years you can torture people in hell before it becomes repetitive.

You’ve fought on Earth for the cause for decades now, and you have no intention of stopping. Everyone has their part to play. Unfortunately, a big part of yours was breaking seals. You were fucking great at breaking seals because it required one of your best skills; creativity. So, you’re turning that creativity to something else. Hunting down Michael’s sword. Hell’s most wanted.

Dean Winchester.

Which leads you to Canton. Although technically you’d started in Cleveland. You’d caught wind of that stupid car they drive and followed them. Dumbasses the pair of them.

Whatever. Not the point. Nobody needs these boys for their brains, it's what's in their blood. The point is you’re in Canton now, so are they. They’re trying to stop some people dying because, disgustingly, that’s what they do with their limited time left on Earth.

See, here’s where you’re taking a slightly different approach. Most of your fellow black-eyed friends would go in swinging, throw them against a wall like all the demons who have failed to take them down before. Sometimes demons are so... so… _obvious_.

Not you. In all the time you’ve been up here you’ve had time to be bored. There are only so many missions and murders to commit. Even sex has grown tiresome. Humans are weak and none of them like pain as much as they claim to. Pathetic. So, you’re creative _and_ you’re bored, and that’s how you learned patience.

It’s not enough to catch them in a moment of weakness. Those moments don’t last. They’re downward blips with quick recoveries, the Winchesters have impressive rebound rates and a knack for getting out of trouble. You need to focus on their _weaknesses_ , those two extra letters make a huge difference.

You needed to find out what would bring them down and stay down. Or Dean at least. Figure out Dean’s vulnerability. Because Sam has some sort of loathsome bond with his big brother, enough that he’s given up on demon blood—for the time being. It won’t be enough to hurt Dean, you’ve got to split them up.

Which is how you end up in a bar, playing with the plastic cocktail stirrer between your fingers. The old fashioned the bartender made you is passable at best, no one has made you a good once since prohibition. Across the room is Dean Winchester knocking back beers like they’re going out of style.

This was going to be a time-consuming project it seems, how much could you really learn watching him like this? Clearly he’s an alcoholic but that’s not something that's helpful.

After the fourth beer, after he’s patted his empty glass at the pretty little tap whore, is when it happens. He looks up. Not at you directly, just up. His nostrils flare and you’re convinced that he’s smelt you. They may be dumb humans but they know about demons. You don’t freeze in fear for your life or anything, you didn’t want to give up this meat suit is all, she’s pretty enough to get free drinks most places.

The spell breaks when his phone rings before he has a chance to scan the room and lock eyes with you. You take a long drag of your drink, enough to empty the glass before you use the opportunity to escape. He’s turned his back to answer and you’ve seen all you need to see for now.

It’s a good thing you’re so patient or you might have fucked that up.

* * *

There’s something powerful in Nebraska. You can taste the cackle of demon in the air as soon as you arrive a few hours after Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber. The only thing you can think is, whoever it is better not waste your time. The Winchesters are officially yours and nobody will be taking them from you. Nobody else knows that and actually, you aren’t all that focused on Sam. Sam is Lucifers and you aren’t stupid enough to come between that. But, Dean?

Dean, you were looking forward to getting your hands on. The man has been to hell already and when you caught him and took him back with a bow on…? Oh, you would so enjoy breaking him. Again.

Until that blessed day, you slink around after them. Being subtle in the way you plot and scheme. So, yes, whatever demon is in Nebraska needs to stay away from your side mission that has become your sole focus.

You were project managing this bitch and you weren’t looking to delegate.

Ignoring the powerful thing in Nebraska, the town is wonderfully insane. People scratching their own brains out or that guy who ended up with square eyes from watching TV too long. Even the stuff that isn’t life-threatening is so fun that you have to respect the game.

You had no idea that the thing you could feel was him. The antichrist. You were an idiot.

The demon trying to get him goes in guns blazing, obviously, and the kid destroys him. Absolutely casts him out. Not just out of that meat suit of a mother, out of existence. And you’re watching the whole thing from across the street like a creep. You’re about to go in because you _need_ that kid. Lucifer needs that kid. More than you need Dean. Enough to blow your cover but before you can, he’s gone.

The power disappears from Nebraska like it’s been sucked off the face of the planet. As much as it is a shame you can't say you're upset. Now you get to carry on your game.

* * *

The hotel is the sort of place you’d love to burn to the ground. It would look fantastic lit up in yellow and orange.

When you first step foot in the place nothing makes sense. Not the hundred wannabe Winchesters or the fact that there are humans walking around pretending to be demons. You don’t like being confused. You were supposed to be getting somewhere and now it’s like being back at square one.

After your initial shock, you actually want to test this out so you sit there in your pretty new meat suit and flick your eyes onyx. Some idiot next to you has the audacity to lean over and compliment your Ruby costume.

As if you would be caught dead calling yourself Ruby. Your fingers itch to snap his neck for the fun of it and you almost do. You only resist because you picked up your new skin a few days ago and there isn’t anyone that you can see who would be a suitable replacement.

Everyone piles into the conference room for some sort of announcement, eventually, leaving you in the hotel bar to figure things out.

There are books. How did no-one in hell talk about this? Everyone is obsessed with finding those boys and nobody thought to do the research. That’s the problem with demons these days, new evil, it’s all so rushed. Sometimes a lighter touch is required.

You steal copies from a stand while everyone is cheering about something in the other room. This follow the Winchesters crap is making you soft because that act of defiance alone makes your meat suit tingle. You should be concerned about that. Except only doing a light skim of the pages, you have a veritable bullet-pointed list of ways to make Dean Winchester cry. So, you’re still getting somewhere.

Hours later you’re in the car you stole along with this body and you see a word in the books, so innocuous that it shouldn’t stand out to you. Pie.

You remember that nun then, must have been more than a year ago. You remember that sentence you tucked away for a rainy day. Maybe you’re weakened by remembering how good it felt to break a seal that night. Maybe that memory makes you weak for the words she’d said after you felt her jaw crack.

_You catch more flies with honey._

* * *

Most humans would call it a beautiful Sunday morning. Sweet Lucifer, crap like that made you sick.

It’s the perfect cover though. Nothing bad happens on Sunday mornings.

They’ve been staying in this bumfuck nowhere town outside of Phoenix because they escaped from a mental hospital or something. The ‘or something’ is probably pretty relevant but you don't care, not really, not unless it helps you.

If their guards are down, sure, it’ll help you out, if not, that was fine too. You’ve got the perfect plan anyway.

You watch Dean leave the motel they’re in looking, surly? Doesn’t matter, the fact is he’s alone. His face is explained when he stops in a diner to get coffee. He's tired. You’d been following him on foot till now because it’s easier to keep you distance walking around town, he won’t be in town much longer though.

You’ve been setting this up for days, weeks actually, but in this town; days. The plan has been in motion for a while you'd only been waiting for them to settle down for a few and _finally_ , they did.

The woman behind the counter of the diner is named Glenda. Glenda is the sweetest little old lady this side of creation. Or at least that’s what you’d told her the last time you went in. You’ve been speaking to her every day, laying the foundation, taking the time to become her friend. It would be exhausting if you ever got exhausted.

Glenda has been telling anyone in a 30-mile radius about the pie truck that’s pulled up on the old Applewood farm, run by a ‘sweet young thing’. You run the best traveling bakery in the country, your mama taught you everything you know. You’ve been supplying the diner all week.

And now she’s telling Dean.

“Oh yes,” you can see Glenda nodding enthusiastically through the large windows. “All the pie we’ve had all week can from that truck. Apparently, she has a big setup for today and then she’s moving on.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

Perfect.

You jump into the car you’re using this week and wait the three minutes it takes for him to come sauntering out like the cat that got the damn cream. This idiot thinks he’s getting pie. Well, there is pie. You couldn’t lure him without having the pie. There’s also a trap is all.

It’s nice to follow Dean out to the farm, it’s nice because you know it’ll be the last time you have to follow his stupid car. After today you were cashing out.

Hayley is standing at the pie stand. You couldn’t be there obviously. Dean wouldn’t want a side of sulfur with his cherry pie. Hayley is a local you hired when you came into town. She’s more than happy to do everything for you, for the amount you’re paying her. You blame this whole 'catching with honey' schtick because you’re _actually_ paying her too. You’d need to kill a whole mess of children after this to get the nice off of you.

Or breaking Dean might get you back to your brilliant, evil self.

He pulls up and his crapmobile bounces on its suspension with the same excitement he jumps out of the car with. Yes, you would enjoy making him pay for the months you’ve spent on this project.

Dean is so pleased as fucking punch to get a pie he doesn’t even notice your car crawling along the dirt path and parking some ways behind him.

The key here is the sign that says **_Try Our Award Winning Cherry Pie_**. It is award-winning. The bakery the pie actually came from won a gold star or some shit. You didn’t pay attention to the ins and outs, only that the pie looked perfect. That’s what you need, him to want _that_ pie.

He does. The son of a bitch sees it and he grins. Points at the sign. He’s practically giddy.

Hayley nods and nods to the second table, there’s only one left. You hadn’t planned that part. She must have had some customers already this morning. Glenda and her big mouth.

He takes a step towards it and you get out of your car. Another step and you start walking. A third and you pick up your pace.

He takes that last step, plants one foot in front of the table, and reaches out for the pie. Unlucky for him you’re sprinting to catch up and with a flick of your wrist, the table jumps back. The pie is in his hands so that’s fine, that’s safe, but now there’s a little space in front of him. Everything happens quickly. His second foot tries to catch up with his first except there’s no floor beneath him. The cloth mat the table had been sitting on falls away, supported by nothing.

You can’t help the laugh that comes out of you when he growls, “what the fuck?” before disappearing.

Hayley screams, whether at the table moving or the trap her customer falls into, it’s delightful. Fuck you missed hearing someone scream. Bloodcurdling and scared, it's a whole meal for your ears.

“Run home Hayley. Tell anyone about this and I’ll find you and kill you. ‘Kay?” She nods, tears starting to roll over her cheeks. She runs, as fast as she can, in such a hurry to leave she forgets her bike. If you remember later you’ll kill her anyway because damn is it nice to be back.

You have a Winchester to deal with first though.

The hole is 15 feet. You figured that would be enough to capture the 6-foot ape without him getting away.

You stand at the edge of the hole and look down. You almost laugh at the sight. Dean is standing in the bottom of this pit, the mat beneath his feet and the pie still in his hands. He's scuffed a little but the pie is perfectly intact. Damn, if you had a heart you'd say he deserves the pie.

You don't laugh though. It's time to put on your game face which means hands on your thighs as you lean over and stare down at him all-black eyes and satisfied smiles.

"Hi, Dean. A little birdie told me you like pie and I had the most, _delicious_ , idea. Whatdy'a think?"

He looks equal parts stoic and mad, which is adorable. "Since when did you bitches get into baking?"

"What else are we gonna use all that fire and brimstone for?"

"Alright. What's the big plan then?"

His eyes don't leave yours, his hands still holding the pie as if it will save him. Somehow what you're about to do feels as wicked as painting that church.

You wave your hand and he slams into the dirt wall of his captivity. The pie falls to the floor, top first, his boot lands smashes into it.

"We're going on a road trip. Don't worry you won't need that where you're going."

By 'that' you mean the pie and by 'where' you mean the trunk of your stolen car.

Once this was all over you were going to teach fucking seminars on catching Winchesters. Because nobody does it better. 


End file.
